


sleep come easy

by Snowsheba



Series: thanks, dad. love, hana [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Late Night Conversations, all emotional talks take place in the kitchen, can be read as a stand-alone, this is the unspoken truth in thanks dad love hana
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-08-29 07:48:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8481412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowsheba/pseuds/Snowsheba
Summary: anonymous asked: I love your fanfic! Symmetra is my fave, so I'm glad you're using her more as well. By the way, if you want, could we please see her interacting with the Shimada brothers? I always thought they'd mesh well together, you know? Anyways, keep up the great work! I'm addicted!





	

**Author's Note:**

> i should just have put the summary as "hanzo actually gives sound advice and satya is confused about eighty-percent of the time in this fic"

The fifth time Satya encounters Hanzo Shimada, it’s around two o’clock in the morning, she’s clad in her light blue silk pajamas, and Hanzo appears to be drinking tea and reading from a datapad in the kitchen when she walks in.

He doesn’t notice her - she’s perfected her ability to walk silently, after all - and it gives her a crucial few seconds to look him over, her eyebrows gently furrowing as she takes in the intricate tattoo across his left forearm. He is battle-worn and weary, hair loose and flowing down over his shoulders and shirt, eyes half-lidded as he reads and posture slightly hunched as he leans over on the center island’s counter. He has no shoes, but he does have socks, and that’s when Satya lightly clears her throat, attempting to be unintrusive and hoping she would not startle him into action, seeing as his bow lay gently against his leg.

Of all the Overwatch agents, Hanzo has been one of the more puzzling ones. He is unreadable and inscrutable, harsh and sharp unless conversing with his brother, and Satya has been hard-pressed to get a read on him. His presence doesn’t quite render her uneasy, but she still wishes for something to fiddle with when he glances over and sees her. He doesn’t jump; instead he stares at her for a few moments, eyes shadowed and heavy, and then nods at her in a short, terse greeting before turning back to his datapad. She takes that as indication to enter further into the kitchen, which she does, and when she reaches for the teakettle, he says, “I have made tea already, if you are interested.”

She stills. On the island rests a teapot, small and forlorn; perhaps enough to fill a cup one time, two times, but not much more. Beside his mug rests a small, twice-round container that smells faintly of alcohol, she can tell that from here as she wrinkles her nose. She wonders how many sleepless nights he’s had, evidence of how prepared he is to spend the majority of it here, and recalls the story of a man who killed his brother for duty. Straightforward but opaque, regrets piling on his shoulders and guilt pulling him down; a motive she can understand, and a motive she fears.

“My thanks,” she murmurs instead, spinning her fingers until a hard-light mug drops into her waiting hand, and she takes the spot across from him on the island. The tea smells earthy and herbal as she pours it into her cup; a sip reveals a gentle, slightly bitter taste, soothing to her throat and warming her core. She mulls over the flavors as she traces the pattern of the counter with her eyes, lightly scratching her fingers over the smooth sides of the mug, and notes that Hanzo is knowledgeable about tea. 

She wonders why, briefly, given the faint scent of alcohol, and decides not to look too deeply into it as she chances a glance towards her companion. She’s - unsure of what to make his expression, stern and pinched, face aglow from the light of the holoscreen in front of him, and she thinks of the story she had heard from Genji Shimada, of a brittle man who had asked for death on the anniversary of his brother’s. She can understand his motive behind such an unthinkable act. Duty, she knows, comes first and foremost; Hanzo’s dedication to his clan is reflected in her loyalty to Vishkar, and the thought of failing her superiors is one she has only entertained in her nightmares, few and far in-between. 

But she fears his motive, too - killing for the sake of duty is something she has accepted as, sometimes, necessary; but the little girl’s face in Rio de Janeiro will haunt her for the rest of her life. The sneer on Lúcio‘s face as he blew past her protests that Vishkar is changing the world for the better, the way Hana had tilted her head and told her that she did not understand Vishkar’s motives, the way Overwatch had regarded her with more caution than respect - much like Hanzo, she can feel the doubt twisting around her bones, whispering in her ears, and she fears the idea that the life she has committed herself walks the fine line of right and wrong, straying away from the values she holds close.

“Are you all right?”

It occurs to her that she has been staring into her tea, intense and unyielding, and she looks up at the sound of his voice. He is not looking at her, and he appears disinterested as he taps the datapad in his hand a few times, motions practiced and almost - bored, she thinks. 

“Yes,” she says in belated response.

Hanzo sniffs. She thinks it sounds dismissive, and her inability to tell from his expression makes her uneasy. She fiddles with the handle of her mug and takes a sip of her tea to distract herself from her discomfort.

“I am very good at lying to myself,” Hanzo says after a moment. “So are you, it appears.”

It’s cryptic, despite the clear meaning of his words. Satya gently furrows her brow, unsure of how to take his admission, and ventures, tentative, “I do not know what you mean.”

“You came here for a reason,” Hanzo says, finally glancing up from the datapad. His expression is - not unreadable. A little sad, maybe, she can pull that from the slight arch of his eyebrows, but other than that, she’s at a loss. The inflection in his voice gives nothing away. “Sleep escapes me because my mistakes do not leave. I seek solitude to muse on them, in hopes I will push past them one day and be able to rest.” He pauses, eyes widening just slightly, and he adds, “You cannot sleep. Therefore, something must be bothering you, and I merely inquired as to what that may be.”

It is a bit of a relief that he has laid out his intentions clearly for her; his impassiveness is difficult to parse, and it’s with more confidence that she says, “Why would I explain myself to you?”

“I doubt you will find anyone else willing to listen.”

Harsh but accurate, the crux of the matter, she realizes, and she doesn’t notice she had reacted to his words physically until he tilts his head at her and she notes that she had inadvertently straightened her posture, tightening her grip around her mug. The tea has cooled in her absentmindedness, and she takes a self-conscious drink as she considers possible responses.

“Perhaps not,” she concedes, because he is right. She has made friends with Hana, here, can speak amicably with Dr. Ziegler and a few others, but not to the extent that she would confide her worries to. She would normally turn to Vishkar, to Sanjay; but she cannot, not when her doubts concern the corporation itself, and even then, who would really understand her plight? Hanzo has left his past behind; she clings to hers, still, and there’s a slim possibility that he can provide the guidance she sorely needs. 

Still, she is curious; she must ask. “Why help me? It is not as though we will ever be friends.”

Hanzo sips from his mug of tea before answering. “Perhaps not,” he echoes, and then, “My brother taught me that it never hurts to try, however.”

An disclosure of fact; he has given her something, and at his look, she knows he is expecting something from her. She swallows, hard. The words spell themselves out in her mind, but they get stuck in her throat, and it’s a long moment before she can speak again.

“Vishkar is all I have ever known,” she says. “Yet it is only now that I find myself wary of its true intentions. My weekly reports are becoming increasingly more concerned with sending back just enough information to keep my superiors satisfied; telling them everything puts some of Overwatch’s agents at risk.” She shrugs, helpless, and then admits, acutely aware of how petty and pathetic she sounds, “I do not know what to do, or what to think.”

It is not entirely surprising to her when Hanzo nods, a flash of understanding lighting across his face, just for a moment. As she had thought; he understood better than most. “To cast off who you once were is not weakness,” he says. The words are a frank admission. “There is strength in admitting you were wrong, though it might not feel like it at the time.”

“Is that what you thought when you left your clan?”

“Far from it,” Hanzo says, flashing her a glint of white teeth; a sneer, almost, but she doesn’t think it’s directed at her. “Abandoning the Shimada clan to its fate was selfishness on my part, was it not? After all I had done to serve its purpose, I left - not because I was exiled, but because I could not take the guilt of what I had done.” If he’s uneasy about how much he is sharing, he doesn’t show it. “That is nothing but a weakness of character; a sign of how inept and unsuited I was to lead the clan at all.”

“But,” Satya prods, because she can recognize that there is more to be said.

“But,” he agrees, and then, “Distance - and time - will show you things you could not see within the folds of your home. What was once weakness, suddenly, is bravery. The fact you have the courage to look critically is telling, in and of itself.” He looks back down to his datapad, though it doesn’t appear as though he’s reading what is on the screen. “It will not make sleep come easy, regardless, but it is a start.”

She ruminates on this as she takes another sip of her tea; the liquid grows cold, and with that in mind she takes a larger drink, eager to finish it more quickly. What he suggests is that being ensconced in Vishkar’s embrace means that what she sees may not always be what is true, and the thought is - abhorrent. Her stomach coils with unease. Vishkar lifted her from the slums, gave her hard-light, taught her how to be an ambassador everywhere around the world; to turn her back to them is to turn her back to everything she knows. It is as he said: it will not help her sleep.

But she can’t find any flaws in his logic, try as she might - distance gives her the ability to make her own judgments, and though the thought of deciding for herself is slightly terrifying, it is the price and gift of freedom, in a sense. Yet Hanzo has had much more time to reach this conclusion on his own. Brushing aside his words may be the course of action she _should_ take, but that doesn’t mean it’s the best one.

“Thank you for the tea,” she tells him once she has finished her mug, dismantling the hard-light with a wave of her fingers, slipping off of the stool to stand on her slippered feet.

He grunts in acknowledgement, all attention on his datapad once more, as if he hadn’t just tilted, slightly, her entire world on its axis. She hesitates for a second more before heading towards the door, but it’s only when she’s pushing her way out that he calls, “Feel free to join me in the future.”

It is one of the heartfelt things she has ever heard him say in the entirety of their relatively short acquaintanceship, and she hums in assent as she leaves the kitchen, and its lonely occupant, behind.


End file.
